Houses of Cards, Flat on the Table
by murderofonerose
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale are both somewhat at loose ends after the Apocaly-oops-nevermind. C/A


Words: 915

Contains slash, footnotes, and the results of this strange writing-in-present-tense kick I've been on recently. I plan on writing more of this, though what I have here so far can be read as a complete piece.

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Houses of Cards, Flat on the Table**

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When Crowley goes on another one of his long sleeps, Aziraphale, instead of feeding the ducks at St. James park or dining at the Ritz, lets himself into the demon's apartment some days. It's not breaking in – not _exactly_ breaking in, because after all he does have a key. [1] He visits partly to make sure the plants stay watered, and partly just to visit.

Aziraphale doesn't sleep; he doesn't have to, and has never really seen the need. But he sometimes lies down on top of the blankets next to Crowley, listens to his counterpart's slow, even breathing [2], and loses track of time for a while.

He doesn't mind admitting that he's a little lonely, although he doesn't have anyone to admit this to other than himself. [3] It occurs to him on occasion that it was rather selfish of Crowley to do something like this directly after something so nerve-wracking as attempting (and succeeding, even) to avert the Apocalypse – and that, seeing as Crowley _is_ a demon, this shouldn't come as much of a shock. It isn't, really, just… a little disconcerting.

Sometimes Aziraphale finds himself wondering if this is what losing a limb feels like. The 'never paying it too much attention until it's gone' seems fairly apt. Not that he's never thought about Crowley before – as they were still, technically, opponents, it was hard not to – but until the world had almost ended it had never occurred to Aziraphale to consider that they might, at some point, not be opponents anymore. Might not be anything anymore.

These sorts of thoughts throw him more off balance than he ever would have expected.

And sometimes he catches himself considering slipping in under the blankets, just for a little more reassurance that they're both still there, that nothing's really changed. But Crowley considers pajamas something that happens to other people, and that, as far as the angel is concerned, would be far too inappropriate. [4] So he doesn't.

But… he thinks about it.

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When Crowley goes on another one of his long sleeps, he fully intends to sleep the decade away. Apocalypses can be quite tiring, especially of they don't actually happen and the effort of trying to avert it has a chance to catch up. He's vaguely annoyed at getting worked up for no reason, too.

In one dream, the only important one because it seems to be the only one willing to repeat itself, he's lying on grass in a nice patch of warm shade. The tree above him is growing on a small island in the center of a still, green-brown lake [5] and is laden with fruit that's impossible to make out clearly through the shifting leaves.

There are other trees, across the water, but this, too, is the important one, and this is the only dream in which Aziraphale makes an appearance. The angel is sitting, leaning comfortably against the tree trunk and facing the other direction with his legs in the sun.

Crowley knows it's a dream because this never happened. But it's a comfortable dream, so he decides not to question it – just stretches and folds his hands behind his head.

"Do you think," Aziraphale asks, sounding far away, "people truly believe that what they don't know won't hurt them? Really, truly believe it?"

"Yeah, sure," Crowley says with a yawn. He looks up at the just visible fruit. They weren't even apples – he can't remember what they _were_, and to his mild irritation no one seems to have written down an exact description. [6] "Ignorance is bliss, haven't you heard?"

This might be part of an actual conversation they'd had once, but Crowley can't remember that either.

Aziraphale sighs, and it's easy to forget for a moment that this is just a dream. [7] "Yes, I have heard that, thank you. But I know that you tempt people without them knowing all the time…"

"Free will," Crowley reminds him lazily. "They make their own choices."

"But that doesn't answer the question at all," the angel protests. "They still don't realize what they're doing. And then those poor souls end up in Hell, scarcely knowing why."

"They know. They're just good at lying to themselves."

There is a long stretch of relative silence, interrupted only by generically pleasant birdsong filtering through the trees from what seems like a great distance.

"Are we?" Aziraphale asks finally.

Crowley sits up and glances casually at him over his shoulder. He can only see the angel in profile, a golden outline against the brightly lit water. "Are we what?"

"Any good at lying to ourselves?"

A breeze sends slow ripples across the glass-like lake, and Crowley opens his mouth to reply _Yeah, sure_ again. But what actually comes out is, "I want you."

Aziraphale sighs again, sounded exactly the same as before. "Yes. I know."

The dream isn't quite so comfortable now. The sun is too hot, even in the shade, and the grass itches a bit, and Crowley has the distinct impression that he's forgotten something and should really be somewhere else. He crawls over and kisses Aziraphale once, twice, possessively on the mouth.

Between kisses Aziraphale says, "My dear, I simply don't have the training for this sort of thing," though by the second one his hands are in Crowley's hair.

And then the dream ends. By the time it starts up again Crowley's forgotten how it goes, so every time it's like a new Revelation that never quite gets the chance to go anywhere.

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_[1] -- Obtained by his own means, true, but still. It's not exactly forced entry._

_[2] -- Since both sleeping and breathing are equally unnecessary, they tend to coincide._

_[3] __-- __And God. But, since God is omniscient anyway, He doesn't quite count._

_[4] __-- __Not to mention the possibility that Crowley might wake up and demand to know what he's doing there at all._

_[5] __-- __Not man-made, of course, though it does have the appearance of being made by _someone_._

_[6] __-- __Really. Check the second and third chapters of Genesis._

_[7] __-- __So easy that Crowley briefly wonders if his subconscious doesn't know Aziraphale a little __too well._


End file.
